


I'm on fire

by malu (orphan_account)



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the past catches up with you in the most inconvenient ways and memories return that should have stayed hidden for the rest of your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm on fire

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll continue this. Probably, to be honest, but I don't know when so I'll keep it as a oneshot for now.

_At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_   
_And a freight train running through the_   
_Middle of my head_   
_Only you can cool my desire_   
_Oh-oh-oh, I'm on fire_

It’s not that he hasn’t read about it. It’s been announced, like every other change to the grid. And he sure noticed, but he preferred to push the thought away, hide it in a corner of his brain. Not like he had to deal with it yet. Except – he’s sitting in a taxi in Sepang now, heading for a hotel and _he_ will be staying there, too. And now is probably the time he has to face the facts. They won’t be able to avoid each other constantly. They will have to meet. And talk. Possibly face questions about their _friendship_. A bitter chuckle escapes his throat. As if there was any left.

***

He knew it when he signed. Of course he did. But it was easy to ignore, because it seemed far away. So far away. And the offer has been tempting, the return a desire he’d had for a while, because it always felt like he’d left unfinished business behind. And well, facing _him_ hasn’t been high on his list of things he wanted to do, but it seemed so far away. Only that he’s checked into a hotel right now, in Sepang, where he’s sure that _he_ also has a room. And avoiding each other won’t be much of an option from now on. That thought is a wicked one, because it’s terrifying and at the same time so scorching.

***

It’s a strange thought that _he_ might only be a few meters away. And it keeps him awake at night, in sweaty sheets despite the air condition being on high. He is tossing and turning, images back in his head that he hasn’t seen for years. Now, they’re haunting him in all their clarity, every detail resurfacing. He can feel the soft, hot skin on his, smell the scent of _his_ aftershave, hear the way _his_ breath hitched when his fingers traced lines over the firm muscles of a tanned chest. A groan escapes his mouth, his hand desperately slipping into his boxers and he mentally prepares for a sleepless night, while he jerks off to the image of _him_ unravelling beneath him, eyes rolling back, mouth slightly gaping, sweetest moans mixing with desperate chants of his own name. ‘Vale, please’… the way _he_ managed to say it still makes him shudder, even years after.

***

He comes with a desperate cry of _his_ name, forehead against the cool tiles and hot water running down his back. He’s gasping for air like a goldfish on a beach and it’s not funny, not even remotely funny, how after years of staying away and moving on, all of _this_ is coming back so quickly and with such a force. And they haven’t even met in person yet. The mere knowledge that _he’s_ somewhere here is enough to throw Marco right back into that personal hell that he thought he’d escaped from years ago. He turns off the shower with a sigh and shivers in the cool blow of the air condition. He hates the memories. He hates the feeling of loss. And he hates himself for this relapse, because really, he thought he had moved on. He’s a dad and until a few days ago, he’d been convinced a happy one. With Manu who’s been making him happy for years. Except that the images returned in all their glory, the way _he_ would throw his head back, neck vulnerable and sensitive for Marco’s lips to attack. The way _he_ would pin his wrists to the mattress. Devour his mouth. Graze _his_ teeth over Marco’s teeth and scrape _his_ nails over Marco’s spine. With a whimper, Marco leans his head against the bathroom wall, cursing his life. Because he is half-hard again already and he has no idea how he is going to survive this.

***

He groans at the mirror, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes disapprovingly. _His_ fault, it’s all _his_ fault. Vale sighs and frowns and sighs again. There’s no escape and he knows it and damned, his head feels like it’s going to explode. Maybe emptying the minibar in a desperate attempt to find sleep hasn’t been the best idea. Staying awake and jerking off with _his_ name on his lips over and over again wouldn’t have led to better results either though. At least, he’s experienced enough now to be able to manage this on autopilot and that’s exactly what he does, turning off his brain and following routines that have turned into reflex actions a long time ago. Same breakfast, same driver, same garage. Eating, drinking, changing. Telemetry. Final discussions. And laps. Decent times. Approving nods. He cannot keep himself from checking on _him_ , feels his heart clench slightly when he sees the name all the way down on the list, time beyond any discussion. Vale is not one to want his rivals or enemies to suffer in that way. He likes beating them in fair fights and this doesn’t seem to be fair. He’s glad he manages to make it through the day without running into him and stays on autopilot all throughout, finally getting out of the leathers, drained by the humid head, almost dozing off on the way back to the hotel and ready to just order room service and call it night. The elevator stops on his floor with a soft jingle and Vale pushes himself away from the wall he had been leaning against, slowly stepping out and almost literally running into the man waiting in front. Almost literally running into _him_. 

Looking at _him_ is inevitable now and it hurts, it hurts just as bad as it did then. Along with these damned butterflies that it makes come back. Vale gulps and he sees _him_ bite chew _his_ lip, the familiar action almost making the older man smile. He knows his heart is probably drumming loud enough for the other to hear and he sinks with back against the wall, bracing himself for a long overdue conversation.

”Hi…”

**Author's Note:**

> Song by Bruce Springsteen


End file.
